1. Thalias POV
Chapter 1
Thalia's POV
T he café buzzed with life, but I felt like a ghost among the living. Mindlessly wiping down the table, I glanced through the smudged glass window. The city outside was a blur—a mess of lights and shadows, as chaotic as the thoughts swirling in my head. Another day, another routine. Another night of wondering why I felt so...empty.
I’d had dreams once, ambitions that felt just out of reach. I wanted more than this—a life that mattered, that had some kind of purpose beyond mere survival. But every day felt like a step further away from the person I wanted to be. I had no direction, no spark. I was drifting, trapped in a cycle of work and sleep, with nothing to show for it. I craved something to break the monotony, a reason to feel alive again, but all I had were fading hopes and the persistent fear that this was all there would ever be.
Maybe it was inevitable, given my past. Growing up without a family, aging out of the system, and being forced to fend for myself had left scars—ones that never truly healed. I was alone, and the weight of that loneliness pressed down on me, making it hard to believe that anything could ever change.
The bell above the door chimed, the familiar sound signaling another customer. I turned automatically, cloth still in hand, and froze.
A figure stepped inside, cloaked in shadow despite the café’s warm glow. A hood obscured their face, but I felt the weight of their gaze—as if they saw straight through me. For a moment, the bustling café seemed to fade into silence, the sounds of laughter and clinking mugs muffled, as though I’d been pulled into a bubble outside of time.
“Can I help you?” I managed to ask, though my voice sounded distant, even to my own ears.
“Just a black coffee, please,” the figure said, his voice smooth and low, carrying a subtle undertone that sent a shiver down my spine.
I blinked, realizing I was still gripping the cloth, my knuckles white. The weight of his presence lingered—unnerving and...familiar. I knew that feeling. I’d felt it before, fleetingly, on rare occasions when they ventured into this part of Nexara.
Gifted . That’s what they were called—beings with abilities far beyond anything ordinary. They weren’t like the rest of us, though they walked among us when it suited them. Some claimed the Gifted were descendants of ancient beings; others said they were a mistake of nature. Either way, they were powerful, dangerous… and rare.
We were taught to fear them—tales of their strength, their magic, and the devastation they could bring. They looked just like us, but with subtle differences. Some could shift into creatures that haunted human nightmares. Others were demons, their magic thrumming in the air like a heartbeat—witches and Fae who could summon fire or call storms with a flick of their wrist. Each kind had carved out its own territory in the world, leaving us with only a small portion to fend for ourselves—and, for the most part, they left us alone.
“Of course,” I replied, trying to steady my voice. My hands moved on autopilot as I stepped behind the counter, reaching for a coffee cup and the pot of coffee. My thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, each one trying to piece together why he was here—in this café, of all places.
I slid the cup across the counter, keeping my eyes on him as he reached out.
“Thanks,” he said simply, his tone calm, but the corner of his lips twitched, as if he’d noticed my nervousness.
“Do you... need anything else?” I asked, inwardly cursing how shaky I sounded.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced around the café, his gaze lingering on the table I’d just cleaned before returning to me.
“No. That’s all—for now,” he said, a faint smirk playing at the edge of his mouth.
And then, just like that, he turned and walked away, his movements smooth and purposeful. The bell chimed again as he exited, leaving me standing there, gripping the counter for support as my heart pounded against my ribs.
“They’ve been coming around more,” Vicki called, her voice raspy but warm. I glanced up to see the familiar gray-haired woman, a regular Tuesday visitor, engrossed in her latest mystery novel. The laugh lines around her tired eyes deepened as she looked at me from her table by the window, a knowing glint in her gaze.
“Yeah, thankfully I’ve been able to avoid them for the most part,” I responded, forcing a casual tone as I refilled her coffee, the aroma of dark roast filling the air.
“You’d think with all the stories, people would be used to them by now.” Vicki chuckled as she took a sip of her coffee. “But no, everyone still gets their knickers in a twist whenever one of them shows their face. You'd think they were seeing a ghost."
“Well, it’s not like they’re exactly friendly,” I pointed out, the image of the hooded figure flashing in my mind. “Most of them barely acknowledge our existence, let alone make an effort to be sociable. And the ones that do … well, let’s just say I’ve heard enough stories to last a lifetime,” I added.
“True enough,” Vicki conceded, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. “Still, I can't help but be curious as to why they're in Nyvorthia. What brings them to our little corner of the world?”
"It would explain all the disappearances," I murmured, the thought sending a fresh wave of anxiety through me. Our city held its dangers even without the presence of the Gifted in our small, isolated territory. Rumors and whispers of shadowy figures haunting the city streets and tales of people vanishing without a trace kept us on edge—a constant hum of fear beneath the surface of everyday life.
"Maybe, but I don't think so. The Gifted have come and gone over the years, and this is a recent issue. Something darker is at play," Vicki sighed, tucking her book away in her worn leather bag. "Anyhoo, be careful getting home, sweetheart. These streets can be treacherous after dark." She smiled, a genuine warmth in her eyes, as she grabbed her cane, making her way slowly towards the door.
"You too, Vicki," I said, smiling back. The bell above it jingling softly as she exited. I watched her go, a familiar pang of loneliness settling in my chest. I didn’t have a lot of good things going on in my life, but Vicki, with her kind eyes and gentle spirit, was a reminder that the world wasn't as horrible as it seemed. I cleared her table, my thoughts drifting back to the hooded figure. A knot of unease tightened in my stomach.
* * *
As I finished another grueling twelve-hour shift at the café, my feet ached, and my eyelids felt heavy. I locked the door, the click echoing quietly, and started my walk home. The familiar route offered little comfort.
The city felt different at this hour—alive yet strangely still, as though the city itself were watching me. I’d lived here my entire life, but I'd always felt as though I was never meant for this place—an intruder walking amongst my own people.
The streets shimmered under a silvery glow, the streetlamps flickering like distant stars in the dark night. My footsteps echoed softly against the sidewalk, the cool air intertwined with the fading aroma of coffee and pastries clinging to my clothes.
Taking a deep breath, I watched as my breath formed a delicate mist. What now? The question echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of the instability and uncertainty that had taken root in my life.
The café’s routine had offered a sense of normalcy for a while, but even now, that comfort was wearing thin. There had to be more than this—some kind of purpose meant for my life, right?
As I turned the corner, the warmth of the café slipped away, replaced by the chilly late-September air. Tugging my jacket tighter, I wrapped my arms around myself, attempting to shield against the biting cold and the shadows playing at the edges of my vision.
I stood at the crosswalk, bathed in the soft red glow of the pedestrian light. A couple passed by, their laughter echoing in my ears—a fleeting echo of the connections I craved but could never seem to grasp. I swear the gods, for whatever twisted reason, took pleasure in my misery. As the light changed to green, I stepped off the curb, trying to ignore the tingling at the nape of my neck, as if something whispered from the shadows. Glancing over my shoulder, I quickened my steps but saw nothing.
“It’s just your imagination,” I muttered, thinking back to the caretakers at the orphanage who would dismiss my cries of shadowy figures as nothing more than a lonely child's delusion.
Heading into the narrow, dimly lit alley, I studied the rusted fire escapes lining the walls like veins, rising up towards the sky. The air was thick—a mix of damp concrete and faint smoke—while the bridge above added to the boxed-in feeling.
A shiver ran down my spine as I continued to ignore the shadows that danced in my peripheral vision. I’d seen them for as long as I could remember—the darkness constantly playing at the edges of my vision, swirling and shifting like restless spirits. It was unsettling, this feeling of being watched, of something lurking just beyond the veil of reality. I'd learned to mostly ignore it, to chalk it up to an overactive imagination, but the unease never truly faded.
As I made the final turn onto my street, I glanced up at my apartment building—its brown bricks dull and battered, washed out by years of grime. The front door was worn, chipped at the edges—a testament to countless uses, with the lock still broken from the most recent break-in.
My footsteps echoed in the stairwell as I trudged up to the fourth floor, the scent of stale cigarette smoke clinging to the peeling wallpaper. I stopped in my tracks when I saw a small box sitting on my doorstep. Intricately carved from dark wood and painted a deep navy, it was tied with a delicate silver ribbon. The ornate box looked strangely out of place against the chipped paint and worn carpeting of the narrow hallway.
I surveyed the deserted corridor, glancing over my shoulder before cautiously approaching my door. The silence was broken only by the faint hum of the flickering fluorescent lights overhead.
A small gasp fell from my lips as I picked up the mysterious gift. I'd never received anything like this before. The ornate wooden box felt heavy in my hands. I strained my eyes, noticing the elegant script written in small lettering across the top: To Thalia Cross, destined for greater things.
I scanned the hallway once again before carefully unknotting the ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside was a stack of neatly arranged papers. At the top, bold letters read: Nexara Academy —an institution whispered about in hushed tones in Nyvorthia, a place where the powerful and Gifted were trained, hidden away in the western mountains.
The invitation seemed to glow in the fluorescent lights. " You are invited to join Nexara Academy. This is your chance to explore the depths of your abilities and find your path in the Nexara."
I froze, the crisp paper crinkling between my fingers before I started flipping through the documents. Yep, it definitely said Thalia on all of them.
Was this some kind of joke? This couldn’t be real—me, Gifted ? No way. Sure, sometimes I saw shadows darting at the edge of my vision or felt a strange tingling on the back of my neck, but those weren’t gifts. They couldn’t be. Just paranoia and an overactive imagination, courtesy of my childhood.
I ran my fingers over the words again: Explore the depths of your abilities.
A spark within me began to simmer, a long-suppressed desire struggling to resurface from beneath the weight of self-doubt and anxiety. I forced down the lump in my throat. I carefully tucked the papers back into the box, the lid clicking shut.
Sliding the key into the old, worn door of my studio apartment, I took a deep breath and muttered to the empty room, "Might as well take the opportunity to get away." A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "It's not like anyone would miss me here anyway."
I placed the box on the small coffee table, its presence an uncanny beacon in the dim light. Nexara Academy. Just the name sent a shiver down my spine, a tangled knot of fear and anticipation tightening in my gut.
"How do you even get there?" I mumbled, tracing the box one more time. I know it's somewhere out west, past the Witches’ domain, but humans don't venture out of our lands often, let alone into that territory. Grabbing the paperwork again, I started reading for more details, desperate for some clue, some hint of an explanation. There had to be something in here about why I’d received an invitation—why me of all people—and, more importantly, how to get there if I accepted. The ornate script offered no practical information, just flowery pronouncements about my "unique potential" and the "honor" of attending. It was maddeningly vague. I flipped through heavy paper over again, hoping for a map, a hidden inscription— anything .
Just as I was about to give up, a small, folded piece of parchment slipped from between the pages. It was almost the same color as the invitation, easily missed if you weren't looking for it. Unfolding it carefully, I scanned the brief message, my heart pounding in my chest. Instructions .
“ To reach Nexara Academy, present yourself at the northwest docks at midnight tomorrow. A vessel bearing the academy’s crest will await you there. ”
That was it. No explanation, no further details. Just a time and a place. The northwest docks—that was practically on the other side of Nyvorthia, a rough part of the city and dangerous at night. Who in their right mind would arrange a rendezvous in such a place? And why midnight ? It all felt so…illicit.
“This has to be some kind of mistake,” I muttered, pacing the small confines of my apartment. Me? At Nexara Academy? The thought was absurd. I was just Thalia, a nobody. I didn’t belong in a place like that—a place for the gifted, the powerful.
I glanced at the invitation again, the elegant script mocking me with its promises of “greater things.” Could this be real? Could I actually possess some hidden ability, some dormant power waiting to be awakened?
I thought back to the shadows, the whispers, the strange feelings that had plagued me for years. I'd always dismissed them, convinced they were nothing more than figments of my imagination. But what if…what if they weren’t? What if there was something more to me than I realized?
“It’s crazy,” I said aloud, my voice echoing in the quiet apartment. “Absolutely crazy.”
The northwest docks. Midnight tomorrow. It was a risky proposition, a step into the unknown. But something—some inexplicable force—was drawing me towards it, urging me to take the leap.
I glanced around my small apartment. The peeling paint on the walls and the mismatched furniture had been my sanctuary for the past few years, my first real home after fleeing the orphanage. It wasn't much, but it was mine. A haven built out of scraps and solitude, a testament to my resilience and independence. A world away from the sterile, suffocating atmosphere of the orphanage and the lonely streets I'd roamed before finding this place. It represented the life I’d painstakingly built for myself—a life of quiet anonymity, where I could finally let my guard down and just be .
Was this my chance? My chance to finally belong somewhere, to be something more ? Tomorrow, I’d walk straight into whatever this was. Maybe it was a trap, maybe it was a joke, maybe it was the beginning of the rest of my life. I couldn’t afford to keep second-guessing myself.
I’d pack the few possessions I truly valued—the worn leather-bound journal filled with half-formed poems and sketches, the smooth river stone I’d found as a child—along with my meager collection of clothes, and I’d decide to embrace this opportunity. Maybe Nexara Academy held the key to discovering who I truly was, unlocking the secrets of my past. Maybe I’d finally find the answers to the questions that haunted me—the questions about my background, my parents, my very existence.
* * *
The taxi parked at the entrance of the northwest docks. As I shut the door, the car immediately sped off, leaving me alone beneath the oppressive, stormy sky. I looked out at an endless stretch of wooden planks leading into the darkness, illuminated by sparse, flickering lampposts that cast long, dancing shadows.
The soft hum of distant waves crashing against the shore was drowned out by the eerie cries of seagulls circling overhead. Pools of sickly yellow light reflected on the choppy water below, but there were no signs of life—no dockworkers, no ships. Just the endless expanse of the docks and the dark, churning sea. It was as though the place had been forgotten by time itself, left to decay in the embrace of the restless sea. A shiver ran down my spine, a prickly sensation that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the unsettling atmosphere.
I started my way down the dock, the shadows in my peripheral vision shooting forward like grasping claws, as if directing me further into the abyss. Each step I took echoed in the stillness, the sound amplified by the emptiness surrounding me.
"I knew this was a fucking joke," I muttered, reaching the splintered end of the dock. The wood groaned beneath my boots, a mournful sound that seemed to echo the churning sea below. A jagged fork of lightning split the inky sky, the sudden flash illuminating the rolling storm clouds gathering on the horizon. For a moment, I felt a small sense of peace in the face of the brewing chaos—a perverse comfort in the untamed power of the elements. It mirrored the turmoil within my own soul.
"Thalia Cross?" a deep voice boomed, startling me so violently I stumbled, my arms flailing wildly as I fought to regain my balance. My heart hammered against my ribs. Whipping my head to the right, I saw the dark silhouette of a large boat emerge from the gloom, its form momentarily illuminated by another flash of lightning. A large, bearded man leaned against the railing, his features obscured by the shadows. My eyes scanned the vessel, finally landing on a large crest emblazoned on the side, the words "Nexara Academy" etched in elegant script of navy blue and silver.
"What are you standing there for? We need to go," the man said gruffly, extending a calloused hand towards me. Hesitantly, I approached, the scent of salt and brine clinging to him, and handed him my suitcase and backpack before climbing onto the deck.
"Thanks," I mumbled, trying to steady myself as the boat rocked gently beneath me. I clutched the railing, my knuckles white, as I tried to ignore the dizzying sway.
The man grunted in response, his eyes, dark and piercing, scanning the horizon. "Go sit over there," he instructed, jerking his thumb towards a cluster of benches near the stern. "I'm assuming you haven't been on a Gifted vessel, eh? Well, brace yourself. It's not like your little human ones." He let out a rough chuckle that held no humor. "You can call me Captain," he added, turning back to the helm. "Just yell if you need me. Stay in your seat, and we'll get there soon." His words held a finality that said the conversation was over. I made my way to the indicated benches, my legs feeling unsteady beneath me, and sat down heavily, clutching my backpack in my lap.
The boat lurched forward, heading straight into the heart of the approaching storm. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach as the rocking intensified. I gripped the railing, the rough wood digging into my palms. The vessel sliced through the waves, sending water misting over the deck, the salty droplets stinging my face. Our speed increased dramatically, the world outside becoming a blur of gray and black. I squeezed my eyes shut, my stomach churning, fighting the rising nausea. The roar of the wind and the crashing of waves filled my ears—a deafening symphony of chaos. I focused on my breathing, trying desperately to keep my dinner down. Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, everything went still.
I cautiously opened my eyes, expecting to see the raging storm, the churning sea. Instead, I was met with an otherworldly spectacle. Streaks of vibrant color, like ribbons of light, danced around the boat, swirling and pulsing in the air. It was as though we were moving at impossible speeds—so fast that reality itself seemed to distort and bend around us. But despite the visual chaos, there was no movement, no wind, no sound of crashing waves—just an unnerving stillness.
"Told ya, eh?" the Captain chuckled, his voice raspy with amusement at my reaction. I glared at him, trying desperately to swallow the bile that was still rising in my throat.
"What in the hell is happening?" I asked, my gaze fixed on the mesmerizing spectacle of colors swirling around us. They pulsed and shifted like a living aurora, painting the air with impossible hues.
"Sailing," he said simply, laughing again. Well, not going to get much out of this guy. I could practically see the amusement dancing in his eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners as he watched my bewildered expression. He was clearly enjoying this bizarre show a little too much, while I was still trying to figure out if I was dreaming or hallucinating. Maybe both.
My eyelids started to feel heavy, like the colors were putting me in a trance. A pleasant, warm drowsiness spread through my limbs, making me want to just lean back and let the swirling hues consume me. I fought to keep my eyes open, my mind screaming at me to stay alert, but the tiredness won. My lashes fluttered, then closed completely, and the world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of vibrant nothingness.
"Time to get up!" the Captain yelled over the roar of crashing waves and the shriek of wind whipping through the sails. My eyes shot open, instantly alert. Land loomed ahead—stark and imposing. Jagged, sky-high mountains clawed at the horizon, their peaks shrouded in mist. We were approaching a shore unlike any I'd ever seen, a place that felt both ancient and forbidding.
After we docked, the Captain approached, his weathered face etched with a mixture of concern and something akin to pity. He offered a calloused hand to help me deboard, his grip surprisingly gentle as I navigated the swaying gangplank.
"Just follow the path," he said, his voice rough but not unkind, gesturing towards a narrow, overgrown track that snaked inland. "The entrance isn't far from here. Good luck to ya, lass." He gave my shoulder a reassuring pat before turning back, leaving me standing alone on the strange, unsettling shore.
My suitcase, stuffed with the few belongings I possessed, felt suddenly heavy. I hesitated for a moment, listening to the mournful cry of a distant seabird. Taking a deep breath, I started up the path—each step a reluctant farewell to the familiar and a hesitant embrace of the uncertain future that awaited me at Nexara Academy.